


This is Why We Lie to Ourselves

by dunneltag879



Category: DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comics)
Genre: After Kon’s death, Bart is a good friend, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, dealing with grief, poor Tim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dunneltag879/pseuds/dunneltag879
Summary: He had been Cinderella running away from the ball, dashing off into the night after such a grand event with his prince. Only, he had no prince. Tim’s prince was dead and Bart was more of a fairy god mother, picking up the mess of his torn heart and dress.OrOnly hours after Kon’s death, Tim finds himself forced to attend a Drake industries gala while trying his hardest to push away his grief
Relationships: Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	This is Why We Lie to Ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> This isn’t all based of cannon, I thought it’d be interesting to write a take on Kon’s death if Tim’s parents were still alive and him living at drake manor, I thought it’d be an intriguing idea since he wouldn’t exactly be able to say or show he was grieving to them.

Superboy was dead.

The world knew it, the justice league knew it, Tim drake knew it.

In fact, he had been pronounced deceased for a good sixteen hours. Of course, in that matter of time, Tim has managed more thanseveral mental breakdowns, six sobbing sessions and zero hours of sleep. Yet, the teen was yet to leave his bed. 

Living in drake manor meant all the privacy in the world. So much that privacy turned into pure neglect, but Janet and Jack’s abusive parenting was beside the point. The neglect was almost a blessing right now, no one to barge in so he’d have to act like he was fine, but this also meant zero comfort from them entirely.

This wasn’t just some mission gone wrong, no, the mission was i fact successful, Kon saved humanity, but it was at the means of testing his selflessness. 

That’s what it was, fuck. He wished Kon was selfish. He wish he had been one to live for himself instead of who he was told he had to be and the people had to protect. Tim was selfish. He knew that. there was no denying. He knew he was selfish because only a selfish person could truly wish that the world and all its inhabitants would perish if it meant he could be with Kon again. 

*********

It was four in the afternoon. Tim had to leave for a gala with his parents at five thirty, giving him a good hour and a half to get ready. Essentially, this meant he had an hour to shower and get his shit together, then a good thirty minutes to dress and style his hair. 

The start was rough. It took a good five minutes for the boy to force himself out of the bed, to which he sat up for a significant amount of time before slipping into the bathroom. 

Tim couldn’t help but stare. What else was he to do? Distract himself? No, distractions were nothing but lies. He didn’t have to lie to himself, maybe he should have but, in all honesty, Tim was tired of the lies. So tired he even considered for a split second to go downstairs and reveal to his parents his identity as Robin. They would freak. Either way, the cold tile on his feet was unforgiving, as was the  ~~ dead ~~ reflection that peered back at him in the mirror. His hair was a greasy mess that came now just below his chin, his eye bags as heavy as ever and of course the usual bruises and cuts along his lips, eyebrows, cheeks and neckline. He looked like shit, but that’s what grief will do to you. Hey, at least no acne.

The turn of the faucet seemed to squeak louder than usual, same thing with the sound of the shower door latching. It was almost as if Tim was more sensitive to sounds, and not to mention the glistening lights. The water was cold as it flowed down his back, a shiver running down his spine. The chilling water was uncomfortable and shocking, but it did the job of waking him up. Tim also felt that if he chose the steamy water like usual, the warmth would remind him far too much of a certain kryptonian. Closing his eyes didn’t help much, either, it was like every time he shut them Conner was there, right in front of him. It was peaceful at first, sure, but after a while he saw images of Kon’s wrists and ankles collecting a green rim, then slowly his veins began to glow the same lime, brighter and brighter. Maybe that’s why he refused sleep now. Maybe he’d be able to  _ hear _ Kon’s torturous screams to just. Make. It.  _ Stop _ . 

God. What was he doing? Kon just died last night and yet Tim was getting ready for a fucking Drake industries gala? He should be with Bart and Cassie, mourning  _ properly _ . No, he had to keep up appearances. Tim was mourning, Robin was mourning, but Tim Drake wasn’t. No, Tim Drake was the seventeen year old heir to his parent’s company, he was to keep up a good appearance, help manage the family company and maintain excellent grades at whichever boarding school Janet and Jack desired to send him away to. Tim could mourn all he wanted at home, but to Tim drake, Superboy was a mere public figure he’d never crossed paths with and rarely heard about, and Conner Kent, smallville’s most charming farm boy, was an urban legend.

By the time his hour was up, Tim had set the stage for Tim drake to take over, the perfect, kind, obedient and cleaver young man his parents had raised. Soft fiber towels wiped his pale limbs cleaned and twisted his raven locks, Concealer covered up the dark circles that sat around his eyes, along with any sort of bruises, scratch or scrape that was left in plain sight. He was perfect, painfully and utterly perfect. No smudges, no blemishes, a mere China doll.

When it was time to get dressed, Tim fixed himself into one of his nicer suits, fixing his tie evenly, and patting his hair down in a neater fashion. 

At some point when his half hour had been up, he had found his way downstairs where his mother ushered him out the door and into the car. 

******

“You know, I’ve known you since you were just a little baby, you’ve grown into a very mature and handsome young man, Timothy,” a feminine voice complimented him. Tim turned, facing the old woman. He tilted his head, had he really been on autopilot this whole time? 

“Yes, thank you, ma’am, but I’m afraid I must excuse myself,” Tim apologized, overhearing the woman chatter with her husband as he walked away, something about how ‘he could be taller’ ,  but being self conscious about his height wasn’t exactly a priority at the moment. 

******

“Fuck,” Tim muttered, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. His knees were weak and he could even feel a sense of fatigue.It was rather odd, being where he was now. For some reason, Tim could remember walking out of the big ball room, but he hadn’t remembered the walk down the hall to the bathroom, not even when he had entered or how long he had been standing there. 

His hands were clenching the sides of the sink, knuckles white. It was almost as if his mind was blocking out different scenes and memories, as if reality itself was ripping. 

Tim stared at himself again. He waited till the tears that made his eyes glossy went away and till his breathing properly slowed to exit the bathroom. When he did, though, his mind felt even more warped than before, like he was on some sort of drug or hallucinogen. 

Yet, there he was, mingling and making his way around all about Gotham’s elegant elite, and socializing with every person in the room. The people here were intriguing, some had traveled the world, spoke many languages, could paint or write, but none were as interesting or as charming as Kon was, and certainly none as handsome.

********

All Gotham’s finest seemed to be there as well, even so, a few times that night, Tim managed to catch Bruce’s gaze, though for no longer than a moment or two. Each time he saw him— even if it was just the side of his face or back of his suit coat—Tim felt himself completely and utterly raging. He wasn’t upset with the man for keeping up appearances, no, more so that none of this effected Bruce the way it did Tim. It didn’t effect Bruce Wayne, Bruce, or even Batman. He wasn’t in  _ mourning _ like the way Tim was, he was simply living his life. He wasn’t being  _ tortured  _ in the way Tim was, he wasn’t being  _ passed around  _ in any way, either. No, because Bruce Wayne had it all. Poor little orphan boy grew up a rich and spoiled brat, hooking up with  ~~ whores ~~ women on the regular and partying on the weekend. Was Tim spoiled too? Was he destined to live that of such a grand life as well? No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Nor should he change the subject. 

Because, for some strange reason, the fact that Bruce Wayne was unproblematic and had nothing to be upset about, was the real thing that set Tim off. 

It wasn’t just Bruce, either. It was everyone. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. Look at them, just look at them. How could they? Hm? Kon was dead, his best friend, his everything. 

Yet, no one in this room was mourning him. 

Even if they didn’t know him, even if they were good people or had no idea the superboy had died, it all just felt selfish. 

It was selfish because Tim’s world was crumbling around him, and these people were carrying on with their lives like nothing happened. All time was slowing up around Tim Drake, so why was it no one would wait for him? Why did the rest of the world even seem to get faster? He was on pause, robin was benched. He had to keep up appearances, though. He had to show up to these bullshit events instead of being with his friends. 

That was it. Tim felt like his mind may just crumble right there. He wasn’t supposed to do this, not now, not here. He had to wait another hour or two till he was home, till he was back in the comfort of his own bed. No, not now. 

Tim gazed around the room, looking absolutely horrified. He couldn’t do this. Very little did Tim allow himself to feel nervous in this part of his life yet, he felt as if everyone in the room was staring at him, staring at Tim, not Tim drake. Something in his mind screamed ‘ _get out_ ’ , and to that, he didn’t protest. 

His mind blacked out the next few bits. It blocked out the sound of his glass hitting the floor, him pushing his way through the crowd and his mother calling after him. Though, he could imagine it sounded treacherous, his mother pleading, his father growling, Bruce gasping, and everyone else filling up the remaining space in between with hushed and cruel whispered. He’d definitely get quite the talking to once returning home.

*******

Not long after did Tim finally find himself standing on the overhead of a highway, staring down to watch the cars screech and bustle below him. 

He had his phone in hand, not taking his eyes off the highway as he dialed a familiar number and pressed the green ‘call’ button on the screen.

“Hello?” Tim spoke, the cold phone pressed to his ear. 

He didn’t wait for response before he beganspeaking again, “I don’t...I don’t really trust myself to not do something stupid right now, I really need you.” Tim’s voice cracked just as he had expected, and for a moment he wished to go back to simpler problems of the past such as being self conscious of his own voice, much like his height. 

“I’ll...I’ll give you the address just...please hurry, and don’t bring Cassie,” he was silent then, listening to the alarm in the opposite voice. 

“Tim?” The caller on the phone questioned, but it was almost as his throat was swollen now, his knees nearly buckling as the same sore pain shot up and out his legs. He’d been silent for a good five minutes, Tim could sense frustration through the clarity of the connection, the receiver still talking, worried.

“Tim?” The phone asked again, more concerned this time. “Tim, bud, where are you?” The voice seemed close to a plead now, something...something he had heard earlier, his own voice?

“5th...5th avenue and...” Tim’s vocals slowly died out over the line through the rawness of his throat, though luckily the receiver had already understood the half directions. 

“Tim, hey, let’s get down from there,” Bart spoke softly from behind him now, a gust of wind following. 

The brown hair boy extended his hand, and the robin took it, instantly falling into his arms after climbing down from the steep ledge. 

They fell to their knees together in the darkness, Bart gently rubbing circles into Tim’s back. Soft sobs were muffled into Bart’s shoulder, he’d never seen the robin so pained before. It was shocking, yet expected? Like a cliché plot twist in a romcom, sad and predictable. Only, Bart found himself wishing this was instead some cheesy romcom, maybe then Tim could die alongside his Romeo. Oh, what a pity, that Juliette. 

The speedster didn’t say a word. After all, what could he say? I’m sorry? It’s going to be okay? It wouldn’t be okay. Bart knew that. This wasn’t something you just brush off in a week, or a moth, or even a few years. This was  _ Kon _ . It would take nearly a lifetime to get over him, though by the shape Tim was in, he hypothesized it’d take roughly six.

When Tim pulled away, Bart’s heart nearly shattered. Tears allowed his smudged makeup to run, revealing a large bruise on his cheek, along with an identical one on his opposite brow bone  ~~ and were those some on his neck..? ~~

He wouldn’t ask, because he knew the answer would be non existent, but there was of course another question that was more urgent to answer. 

“Tim?” Bart started, meeting the raven haired boy’s gaze finally. “Have you been drinking?” He asked, not in an interrogative way, but more so like he was hurt, that it broke Bart a little more to smell the alcohol on his friend’s breath. 

Tim _had_ to ponder about that for a moment. He  had been drinking, he could taste the alcohol oh his own tongue, on the rim of his lips. It was just that, the question was how much he had consumed and when exactly it happened. “It was just one glass,” he answered finally, because it couldn’t have been more than one if he wasn’t feeling tipsy, right? Although, was it possible the alcohol was what was making him zone out so much? He expected a lecture, to which he’d have to make up excuses to the answers he did not know, like who gave him the alcohol? It didn’t come though, the lecture. It never did. 

When none came, Tim looked up at Bart again, his face heavy with confusion, and god was he pitiful, like a devilish vampire in the moonlight, gorgeous yet fresh out of the coffin.

“Tim?” Bart asked carefully, moving one hand to grab Tim’s gently. His pale hands were clammy, knuckles just as flushed as his cheeks. 

Bart was different when he was grieving, his eyes were puffy, his lips cracked and his hair greasy and flat. The bind that seemed to always hold all of them together was broken and torn. 

The gleam of hope had died out along side their precious kryptonian, and for once Tim wasn’t quite sure what to do. 

How does one come back from such a significant loss? Especially when the one who always pulled him out of such a rut, was far off in his own world was well? 

Kon would fix it. Kon would know what to do. Kon wasn’t here though. Kon was dead. _Killed_ , to be more precise. 

From there, Tim knew they’d never be the same. There was no coming back from this. 

“Hm?” Tim hummed out in response, looking carefully at his friend. Bart looked far gone, like he had just lost another friend, maybe he assumed he was loosing Tim. Perhaps he was. 

“Why didn’t you want Cassie to come?” The question rang out, in one ear and out the other. Tim stared at him more thoughtfully now, like he was trying to piece together his own story, his own alibi.

Had he? Oh, yes he had. Fuck. “I...uh,” Tim started, he was looking away now. Was he really about to say this. “You’re not to tell anyone,” he spoke sternly, or as sternly as he could at least with such a shaky voice. 

“Tim, I promise, I won’t tell anyone, okay? What is it?” 

Tim purses his lips. His ears felt hot in the summer night, he could still hear the sounds of horns and feel the rumbles of moving vehicles below them. “I was in love with him...” he whispered finally, his voice barely audible. 

Either way, Bart looked at him with pity, but he didn’t speak, he simply wrapped Tim in a tighter embrace than before. This time Bart could feel the way his body shook as he sobbed in his arms. 

“God, I loved him so much. I wanted to tell him, I really did, but Cassie just seemed to make him  so  happy,” Tim trembled, and for a second, Bart considered telling Tim about the time Kon confessed to him that he, too, felt something more between he and Tim, but he wasn’t quite sure if Tim’s heart could take it. No one needs more regret, and no matter which way Bart tried to play it, he knew Tim could always find a while to blame himself, as if he  _ wanted  _ to hate himself.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” Bart suggested softly, to which Tim nodded in his arms and pulled away after a bit of a pause. 

It was like something purely out of a film, the way Bart pulled his friend up and scooped him into his arms, only to run at full speed till they reached the manor. 

Drake manor was different in the dark. It was elegant, sure, but come night fall the manor caught more of the gothic feel that themed the whole city, it became once as it always was. 

“Will you be alright from here?” Bart asked carefully, setting his friend down the pavement. He didn’t let go of him either till he steadied. 

“Yeah...yeah. I’ll be fine, thanks, Bart...for everything, really,” Tim smiled tiredly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Bart looked the boy up and down just one last time. He had been Cinderella running away from the ball, dashing off into the night after such a grand event with his prince. Only, he had no prince. Tim’s prince was dead and Bart was more of a fairy god mother, picking up the mess of his torn heart and dress. 

“Call me if you need anything else,  _ please _ ?” He whispered in a desperate tone, and then Bart was gone, nearly disappearing into thin air. 

*****

Tim was back in bed, having shed his formal wear into his usual  ~~ superboy ~~ Superman shirt and boxers. Perhaps it was he comfort of it all that put him to sleep that night, maybe it was exhaust from running not only away from the gala but from his mind so often through the night. His makeup was smudged, and when he had stripped his dress shirt he found mysterious bruising on his chest, collarbones, neck, and especially around his wrists, it had seemed to remind him of how achy his body truly was. 

Maybe it was the possibility of his drink being tampered with, or the feeling of waking up constantly without any memory of even the few minutes before. Or, maybe it was all that, along with the idea...the  _ hope _ to see Kon again, even if it were just to be in a dream, even in one which he was tortured in. 

Superboy was dead. 

Maybe Robin would follow

Or, maybe Tim would just have to wait for a miracle like day when he’d receive his traditional good morning text from the kryptonian.

Until then, he’d over work, isolate, stay alive. 

Tim would wait for his prince, he’d wait until he found his way back home to him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I just want every one to know I love and appreciate all of you who leave comments and kudos on my works especially the people I know who follow along with all my works. I love you and I see you❤️❤️❤️
> 
> Also just a reminder to please take care of yourselves and stay safe!!
> 
> Tumblr- @klariwitch


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